If you really know me you would know that I write no matter the mood I happen to be in. I write to relieve anger and tension, or to express deep emotions that wouldn’t be said correctly using my voice.
When I get angry my mind is flustered with emotions and thoughts that I so desperately want to say. When I get overwhelmed I go in my room with a pen and a notebook and let all my emotions spill out of me. I sometimes deliver the letters myself, sometimes they find the person unintentionally, while others just stay in a notebook propped on a shelf never to be read.
I love the idea of starting with a blank page and spilling my heart, thoughts and ideas, transforming it to be completely and utterly mine. I never have to worry about it judging me, talking back, or contradicting my thoughts. It just sits there taking the compliments and inside jokes, or the stingingly painful words like a champ. A piece of paper is the best listener I have come across and I know I could never find a better one.
To me writing isn’t about a pen meeting a piece of paper; It’s about telling an amazing experience that can take you to another place. It’s also a way for you to let someone in and see behind one of the many doors you keep closed from the world. In the writing community I am never wrong because it is ultimately me and how I view the topic of discussion.
I write because I love going back to old letters, stories, and opinionated pieces to see how vast or little things have changed. I write because it helps me remember times in my life and also helps me forget. But most importantly I write because speaking aloud always falls short to what I can explain using a pen and a piece of paper.
